Monday, March 3, 2014

Of Stardust by February Grace: Spotlight and Excerpt

At the age of twenty-six single, geeky bookseller Till Nesbitt inherits the shock of a lifetime: a huge Victorian farmhouse filled with unique tenants, and the knowledge that there is a reason she’s always been different. She’s destined to become a Fairy Godmother, because the skills are written into her DNA.

Till embarks on her fairy education at Dreams Come True University with much trepidation, guided on her journey by a unique mentor: a Celtic hybrid with a secret by the name of Gus.

When Till falls head over heels for Gus, will she break the most serious law in the Fairy Code, or will the truth of what really happened to Gus’s parents keep them from repeating history?

In this excerpt, Till meets someone who is going to have an enormous impact upon her future.

***

Till slid down the wall and sat on the floor. “I’m sorry, but did you just say…”

Aunt Tilda sighed. “What I am about to tell you won’t be easy to accept, Till. I can only hope that in the days ahead that you will be able to come to terms with what it all means. I hope it will bring you some comfort, finally understanding why it is that you’ve always been different,” she explained. “I’m a Fairy Godmother, Till, and so are you. Well, not quite yet... but the process has already started, and your adult traits are beginning to show up. Things you may have worried weren’t normal about yourself… like the insomnia. All easily explained, because they are all a part of who you are meant to become.”

Till laughed out loud. “You mean, like in Cinderella... that kind of Fairy Godmother?”

“Well, we tend to dress a little more stylishly and have better hair, but yes, like that.” She saw how troubled Till was by this revelation. “Are you all right, dear?”

“Am I… am I all right?” Till exclaimed. “She tells me I’m some sort of fairy human hybrid and then she asks me if I’m all right?” She scrambled to her feet and started for the door. “Aunt Tilda, I don’t mean any disrespect, but you are sincerely freaking me out right now, and I think I need to take a walk.”

“But we’ve so much work to do, and not much time left.”

“I know, I know... you keep telling me that.”

“There’s a package from the lawyer that you need to look at. I’ve taken care of everything already, but you need to—”

“I really need some air... I’m sorry.” Till dashed for the nearest door, which happened to be the one to the back porch, and ran outside without her coat.

It was snowing, coming down in a flurry that made it difficult to see the sky. She fought to catch her breath, tilting her head up toward the faded image of the sun as it tried to break through heavy clouds. It only succeeded in sending down a few thin, bright shafts.

She felt sick, and yet something about what the old woman was saying did not feel crazy to her anymore. That part was beginning to worry her more than anything else.

“She’s anything but senile, lass... and y’er not as crazy as ye might think.”

Till spun and saw a man standing behind her with a broom in hand— prepared, it appeared, to brush away the dusting of fresh snow that covered the sidewalk.

“Pardon me?”

“I said, Tilda’s many things, but she’s not crazy. Neither are ye.”

His accent threw her for a moment. She was tempted to ask about it, but forced herself to ignore how charming it was. “Oh? And you know this how? You don’t even know who I am.”

“Y’er her great-niece, the one she’s been talkin’ about for months now. The one she’s been waitin’ on so she can finally rest.”

A shiver coursed through Till and she began to shake. She hugged her arms around her middle as she analyzed this stranger in greater detail. He had shaggy dark hair and a scruff of beard upon his chin. He also had remarkably blue eyes, just as Lane did.

Just as Great Aunt Tilda did.

Just as Till herself did.

Wait a minute…

She opened her mouth to speak, but stopped. Still, the question formed in her mind.

Is he a... a...?

He smiled at her gently as he swept the walk a few times, then leaned against the broom. “I am, in fact. Only they don’t call me a Godmother. Wish they’d come up with a better term than Godfather though, makes me sound like I’m runnin’ a crime family er somethin’.”

Till swooned.

A pair of strong arms closed swiftly around her as the young man dropped his broom and caught her as she fell.

He carried her back into the house, placing her gently in the nearest chair. “We’re all in the ‘family business’ as it were, Till,” he said, as she began to come around. “That’s how it works. We have to stick together, because without each other, the world would eat us alive.”

Again, his accent nearly overwhelmed her. She couldn’t exactly place it… but when he said alive it sounded like ah-loive.

“Who… who are…”

“Name’s Gus. Well, it’s actually Angus Cailan Duncan, but only me ma called me that. Ma, and certain other authority figures… usually addressin’ me in an official capacity when I was in trouble.”

About the Author

February Grace is a writer, artist and poet who lives somewhere that is much colder than she would like most of the time.

She sings on key, plays by ear, and is more than mildly obsessed with music, clocks, colors, and meteor showers.

Her poetry, prose, and/or flash fiction have appeared in The Rusty Nail Literary Magazine, Vine Leaves Literary Journal, and Rose and Thorn Journal. Her work can also be found in the following anthologies: Poetry Pact Volume One, Anything Prose...And Poetry, Too! and Orange Karen, Tribute To A Warrior.

GODSPEED, her debut novel, is a labor of love she refers to as "Literary romance with steampunk embellishments."

Contest is void where prohibited. Entrants must be 13 or else have parent or guardian’s permission to enter. Winners will be notified via email and will have 48 hours to respondor another winner’s name will be selected. Winning entries will be verified for authenticity.

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